Sunday, 27 December 2009

Next term colleagues and I will teach for the first time a first-year course on the Roman empire. The aim is to include literary and archaeological approaches within a historical structure. An important feature is the text of the week, and one week is reserved for descriptions of villas, by Pliny and Statius. But we can't make students buy a copy of the Silvae for one poem, and nothing was available online. So I have done a translation. I have represented Latin hexameters with English blank verse; the number of lines is regularly greater in the translation than in the original, but as the original has abundant enjambment I hope that it is not thereby misrepresented. I have translated Shackleton Bailey’s text, and in many places been influenced by the wording of his prose translation. A couple of lines which are conjectural are represented in italics.

As with other poems in the Silvae, Statius makes a point of his facility of composition, when he describes this one in the prose preface to book 2: ‘My dear Pollius’ villa at Sorrento, which follows, should have been put into words by me with greater care, if only in honour of his eloquence, but my friend forgave me.’

There stands, between the Sirens’ famous wallsand the cliffs weighed down by great Minerva’s shrineon the Tyrrhenian sea, a lofty villathat watches all the Dicarchaean deep.The soil there’s well-beloved by Bromius,and on the lofty hills the grapes are baked,grapes which don’t envy the Falernian press.Here came I, glad after the festivalmy homeland holds five-yearly, when a lullhad fallen on the stadium, when the dustlay white, and athletes turned to Ambracian laurels;across my native bay the eloquenceof gentle Pollius, the youthful graceof glittering Polla brought me, though I longedalready to turn my steps where Appia runs,familiar route, and queen of all long roads.

From there, at angles creeps a colonnadeover the hills, a city’s work, and tamesharsh rocks with its long ridge. Where sunlight oncemingled with darkling dust, and where the pathwas charmless wilderness, joy now to walk:just like, if you ascend the lofty peakof Bacchis’ city, Ephyrē, there runsa covered path from Inoan Lechaeum.

If Helicon should grant me all his streams,Piplēa quench my thirst, the flying horsegive waters generously from his hoof;should trusty Phemonoē open upher waters chaste, or those my Polliusdisturbed when with Apollo’s auspiceshe dipped his urn in deeply, I could stillnot equal in Pierian songs the sightsinnumerable, the adornments of that place.In that long list, scarcely my eyes sufficed;scarcely, while I was led past everything in turn,my steps sufficed. What a great crowd of things!Is it the place’s brilliance, or the master’s,that should amaze me first? This mansion viewsthe sunrise and Apollo’s youthful beam;this one detains him as he falls, forbiddinghim to dismiss the light that’s rightly spent,when day’s fatigued, when the dark mountain’s shadefalls in the water, when the palace swimsin glasslike sea. Some buildings bustle withthe ocean’s roar, others are ignorantof the sounding waves, and favour earthly silence.Some places Nature’s favoured, but in some,beaten, she’s given way to cultivation,learnt to be mollified for unknown ends.A hill once stood where you see level ground;there once were lairs where now you enter houses;where you spy lofty groves, no land was there.Their owner tamed them; while he shapes the rocksor fights them out, the soil rejoicing follows.Behold the cliffs learning to bear the yoke,the houses entering, mountain moving backwhen ordered. Let Methymna’s bard withdrawhis hand; with it the Theban lyre withdraws;the Gothic plectrum’s glory yields to you.You too move rocks, high forests follow you.Why should I tell of ancient shapes in waxor bronze: whatever with his paints Apellesrejoiced to animate; whatever marvelthe hands of Phidias carved, when still the shrineof Jupiter was empty; what the skillof Myron or what Polyclitus’ chiselordered to live; bronzes from Corinth’s ashworth more than gold, the heads of generalsand poets, heads of ancient sages, whomyou strive to follow, whom in all your heartyou feel – untroubled as you are by cares,your mind always composed in tranquil virtue,your mind always your own. Why should I listthe thousand rooftops and changes of scene?Each bedroom has its own delight, its ownparticular view, and different lands, acrossreclining Nereus, serve different windows.This looks on Ischia, and from that appearsrugged Prochyta; Hector’s armourerlies open here; there sea-girt Nesis breathesmalignant breezes, while from here is seenEuploea, sign of luck for wandering ships;Megalia juts and wounds the curving waves;your Limon’s pained, because his master liesacross the bay; he watches from afaryour Sorrentine headquarters.

Just one room,one only, far apart from all the rest,stands out and offers you across the sea’sstraight path, Parthenopē. And here, dug deepfrom Grecian quarries, marbles: this the veinof eastern Syenē has tinged, and thisin mournful Synnas Phrygian axes mined,among the fields of grieving Cybelē,where on the painted marble, purple ringsset off the pure white base. Here too, cut fromthe mountain of Amyclaean Lycurgus,a stone that’s green, rock mimicking soft grass;here shine Numidia’s yellowing stones, and Thasos,and Chios, and Carystos that delightsto match the rolling wave. All turn and allsalute the towers of the Chalcidian city.Hail to your spirit, for you love and livein Grecian country! May Dicharchus’ wallsthat gave you birth not envy – for it’s rightthat we possess our learned foster-son.Why should I now recount the country’s wealth,and ploughlands thrown upon the main, and rocksdripping with Bacchus’ nectar? Oftentimesin Autumn, when the vines are ripening,there climbed the rocks, hidden in shades of night,a Nereid; she wiped her dewy eyeson shoots, and snatched sweet bunches from the slopes.And often too, the neighbouring waves threw sprayon to the vintage, satyrs tumbled downinto the shallows, and the mountain Panslonged to catch Dōris, naked in the waves.Be blessed, earth, for lord and lady both,for all the Trojan’s and the Pylian’s years;and do not change your noble servitude.Let the Tirynthian hall with its displaysurpass you not, nor the Dicharchan bay;Let not the pleasant vineyards please them morebeside Galaesus, Therapnaean stream.Here Pollius practices Pierian artswhether he ponders Epicurus’ lore,or strikes my lyre, or weaves unequal songs,or threatens to unsheathe the avenging iamb.Here lightly flies the Siren from her rock,to better songs than hers; Tritonia therelistens and moves her crests. Then blustering gustsare calm, the seas themselves no longer roar,delightful dolphins rise up from the deep,drawn to his lyre, and wander past the cliffs.

Live long, live wealthier than Midas’ treasure,than Lydian gold, more blest than diademsof Troy or Persia. The uncertain rodsof state, the fickle crowd, the laws, the camp,shall not irk you, who in your mighty hearttame hopes and fears, lifted above all prayers,one who’s immune to fate and who rebuffsindignant Fortune. When your last day comes,you’ll not be found engulfed in doubtful doings,but ready to depart, replete with life.We, worthless crowd, always prepared to slaveaway and long for fleeting benefits,we’re scattered to the winds of chance; but you,you from your mind’s high citadel despiseour wanderings, and laugh at human joys.There was a time when you yourself were tornby a twin land’s votes, when you were lifted highthrough the two cities, by Dicarchus’ folkgreatly revered, adopted too by mine,and generous here and there in equal share,in the heat of youth, proud in your wanderingfrom the right path. But now, the fog dispersed,you see the truth. Others are tossed aboutagain upon that ocean, but your shiphas come unshaken to a tranquil calmin a safe harbour. So proceed, and neversend back your well-sailed ship into our storms.

And you, who stand above all Latin daughters,whose mind equals your man’s, whose heart no cares,whose brow no threats have turned, but in whose faceis candid joy, and pleasure free from cares:for you no luckless strongbox suffocatesyour wealth, no loss from greedy usurytorments your soul; your riches can be seen,and with restraint and wisdom you enjoy them.No hearts are joined under a better god,no other minds has Concord better taughtto love their bonds. The joys of fleeting lifelearn now carefree; flames mingled from your breastshave made a lasting bond, and hallowed lovepreserves the laws of honourable friendship.Go through the years and centuries to come,and outdo all the claims of ancient fame.

Thursday, 24 December 2009

This letter combines several of the cliches of Symmachus' style; it begins with the 'nothing-to-write' topos, then identifies a subject, and reveals itself by the end as yet another letter of recommendation. The Rhetor Palladius had a successful career in Rome; it was not under Ausonius as Praetorian Prefect (376-9) that he moved on to a political career, but a few years after this letter, under Theodosius I in the east (he became Comes Sacrarum Largitionum in 381 and Magister Officiorum in 382-4).

What exactly the situation was in which Symmachus heard Palladius is not clear, nor what exactly the Latiare concilium, the group which heard Palladius put his declaiming skills into practice, was. John Matthews attractively adduces the parallel case of Augustine of Hippo; Symmachus as Prefect of Rome and famous orator heard the young rhetor in 384 and sent him off to Milan with a recommendation, with results that changed the history of Christian thought ("Four funerals and a wedding: this world and the next in fourth-century Rome", in P. Rousseau and M. Papoutsakis, Transformations of Late Antiquity: Essays for Peter Brown, Farnham, 129-146). I should also admit that I am not too sure of whether the text or my translation can be trusted in section 2, when Symmachus suggests that Palladius is part of a (non-literal?) family of speakers. I would love to be illuminated!

Ep. 1.15

1. It almost turned out that I communicated succinctly and briefly with you, since there was a lack of things worthy of mention, and when facts are absent there’s no point indulging in words, but in a timely fashion our rhetor Palladius’ declamation has lengthened my page. As it pleased the leading men of literature it should not be secret from you. So since such a report befits both my sense of duty and your enthusiasm, although our gathering has scarcely scattered, I have dictated with red-hot judgment an account of what I heard, while it’s still ringing in my ears. 2. The logos of our Athenian guest moved the Latian assembly with with the skill of his division, the abundance of his inventiveness, the seriousness of his feelings, the clarity of his words. I speak my opinion: he’s as proper in his speech as his morals. On this occasion the men of our city, who often disagree with each other about other things, held a united view of his excellence. I firmly believe, and my credence is not misplaced, that this is a family of rhetors; this race, full of genius, can be recognised. It is not features or complexion alone that claim descendants for their ancestor’s honour; nature has surer ways of claiming paternity. Heirs of thinking well and speaking well are born, not written into the will. What others have from teaching, he had from birth.3. About this, my lord, I did not believe I should not keep silence, because I consider nothing of any weight beside my love for you, and because in turn I will never regret how valued I have become with you, and because I want for Palladius that things honourable to proclaim should not be hidden. Take care of your health, and since you have at hand the capacity to write, add to that the wish to do so.

Tuesday, 8 December 2009

Two letters of recommendation and a thank you letter for a favour. This is the bread and butter of Symmachus' correspondence. Ausonius is at the peak of his power, Praetorian Prefect and either consul or consul elect.

Ep. 1.19

People who have been deserted by their self-confidence accept my letters to use their recommendations. It’s different in this case. I have given my letter to my brother Potitus on condition that he recommends it to you. He is, you see, no differently from me, among the highest of your friends. When he has brought you to share his presence, I fear that you will think my evasion not pardonable. But if through my experience I have properly become acquainted with your toleration towards me, I think it will turn out that you won’t attack me, who has stayed behind, in comparison with the other person who has come, but that you will welcome him all the more for the sake of us both. Farewell.

The letter is assumed to have been written at the end of 378 to excuse Symmachus for not coming to Trier for Ausonius' inauguration as consul on 1 January 379. Potitus was appointed Vicar of Rome later in 379.

Ep. 1.21

I rejoice that I’m worth more to you than the rest, when you are so energetic that on your own initiative you take care of my problem and don’t await entreaties, but follow the mere rumour of my wishes. I have received the four passports which will be incredibly convenient for my goings and comings. May the gods reward you for such kindness, and, since nothing can be added to blessings which are perfected and raised in a heap, may they keep safe with you and in your possession what they gave you. Farewell.

This letter is assumed to be from 379, when Ausonius holds both the senior consulate and the Praetorian Prefecture; he has sent Symmachus passes for use on the cursus publicus.

Ep. 1.26

I am making use with you of the confidence which you have given me. You have long been sparing of letters, but I shall not imitate your example, since I know that, for a man who’s placed at the pinnacle of honours and who therefore looks after varied and mighty concerns, it is not so much enthusiasm that is lacking as opportunity. It’s of course the way of the world that we consider things neglected despite all efforts as pardonable. But I, sure as always of your love, will not abstain from my customary sense of obligation, and will count it as the highest favour and honour, if profit in some form could fall to the good friend who will give you this letter, in proportion to his considerable attentions towards us. Farewell.

From around the same date, though it could be earlier on in Ausonius' period of power from 376-9.